“Why don’t you catch a freight? You wouldn’t be nearly so likely to get into trouble.” “Huh, a freight! Me? Not on your life! What do you think I am, a dead one? I’m a live guy, I am. No bundle stiff about me. Say, do you know, I’ve beat it clear from northern Wyoming. I’ve been workin’ a long time there as a cowboy on a great big cattle ranch. Say, that’s the life.” “Seems to me you’re travelling in the wrong direction for a cowboy,” I observed. “The cattle ranges all lie west of here, and you’re heading east. How does that happen?” “Well, you see, Ma she wants to see me, so I thought I’d make a short trip home. Me and the old man had a falling out, and I beat it west. Say, do you know, he expected me to milk two cows, milk ’em and feed ’em and wait on ’em hand and foot. No fun nor nothin’. And weed the garden! Say, I bet you never saw as big a garden as we got—great long rows—and say, I bet you never saw weeds grow as fast as ours do—big, tall weeds. But Ma wants to see me, so I gotta go home.” “Did your mother write to you to come?” I enquired gravely. “No, she didn’t write. I’ve never stayed very long in one place so I never wrote to tell her where I was.” “Oh, my! She must be terribly worried about you. How long have you been away?” “Why, let’s see—it must be nearly six weeks now since I beat it. I met a gang of hoboes the first day I was out and they took me right along with ’em to northern Wyoming. Say, that’s a great country, all right, all right. But, of course, when Ma wanted to see me I had to leave. “I tell you where’s a bad town you gotta fight shy of. That’s little old Cheyenne. There’s a gun man there, Jeff Farr’s his name. Say, he shoots a Bo for breakfast every mornin’. You folks want to watch out when you go through. They run you in for nothin’ at all. I met a nigger just the other side o’ there. Say, he was runnin’ in circles like a fitty cat. They had chucked his pal in the can just for nothin’ at all—vag charge maybe—and no tellin’ when he’d get out, and here’s this poor coon, can’t go off and leave his pard, can’t find work, can’t get nothin’ to eat, can’t do a thing in the world but chase around and bawl. Say, I felt awful sorry for that poor coon.” We raided our scanty stores to pack a lunch for the boy. I instructed him in the care of his wound, described the location of various houses along the road where I knew by experience he would be sure to find help, gave him a little note of recommendation and explanation to use when applying for assistance, then started him on the way to his waiting mother. Just at sundown we came to the town of Wood River, a place I am destined to remember. Storm clouds were piling on the horizon as Dan hurried to the shop to buy some meat for supper. While he was gone, some Greeks approached and with much gesticulation endeavoured to explain something to me. I gathered an idea of trouble of some kind, but exactly what they were driving at I was unable to determine.